P.J. Morse - Clancy Parker 02 - Exile on Slain Street by P.J. Morse

anyone who avoided the pole, besides me, was a candidate for filing down the screw that kept the stripper pole mount in place.

Chapter Ten:
Lockets Galore
    Y et again, we were arranged on the tiers. To simplify matters, we were put up there in the same order from that morning, which probably helped fire up Patrick’s memory. Lorelai, ever the teacher’s pet, kept reminding Kevin of which woman went where.
    This time, Wolf was involved in placing the women, and I wondered how much of a say he had in who should stay and who should go. He spent an unusually long time making sure Cookie was placed just so, and I caught him sniffing her hair.
    When Dawn was positioned, she was still rubbing her thigh, as the pole had landed right on it. Wolf and Kevin moved away, and I thought I heard Kevin say, “Tell Patrick to keep her… she’s been through enough tonight.” He smacked his hands together twice like that was that.
    The members of the production crew set up the rest of the “elimination zone,” in which Patrick would dole out trinkets to those of us who would stay in the mansion. Past dating reality shows all had a gimmick tied to elimination: roses, clocks, backstage passes, or glasses of champagne. Atomic Love was well known for giving out packs of matches, referencing the heat generated by Patrick the former Nuclear King, of course. Last season, he asked the women, “Will you light my fire?”
    I presumed one of the living members of The Doors threatened a lawsuit because I didn’t see any matches this time: only a row of lockets featuring half hearts with jagged edges.
    After another round of waiting, during which Casey let out a few scary dry heaves as Greg hoisted her upright, Patrick emerged and stood next to the lockets. He was wearing one of them around his neck.
    “So, last season, I asked someone to light my fire. And the woman I chose — damn, she lit that fire — but it turned to ashes. Now I have something else on my mind. Everyone’s gonna think I’m an old man…”
    “No, you’re not, Patrick!” we all yelled to reassure him. But he was right. In rock years, he was old. He had to be at least 40, maybe older.
    He continued, “But I don’t care. I really could care less. I want to find someone who is the right fit.” He inserted his half of the locket into the other half he was holding, and they merged together in a heart.
    “But don’t think I’ve gone soft!” he said. “There’s a mushroom cloud engraved on the back.”
    Those of us who got the whole “Nuclear” joke giggled, but some of the women just said, “Huh?” They probably still thought he had been in Pearl Jam or Alice in Chains.
    “So, I’m going to call each of you down tonight based on how you fit. And lady number one already knows who she is…” he looked at Andi, his handpicked assistant bartender.
    Andi looked back as if to say, “Who?” But she looked hot, so it didn’t matter.
    “Andi, c’mere,” he said. He hung her half of the locket around her neck and let her give him a sloppy kiss in return.
    “Next is a woman whose talents utterly impressed me. I have never seen anything like it. Cookie!”
    Cookie gasped, like a pageant winner. “Really?”
    “Do you think I would pass up a woman with your skills?” Patrick asked.
    She shook her head and raced into his arms. She also gave him a lengthy kiss, and all of us groaned since he seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Unlike Andi, Cookie was far less passive. I glanced at Wolf to see how he was handling it since he seemed so enamored of Cookie, and I noticed cords of muscle bulging in his neck.
    “Now — this woman grabbed my attention right at the end of the night. And I like a woman who may have fallen, but she knows how to get up. Dawn?”
    Dawn jerked her head back in shock. I hadn’t seen her interact with Patrick except when he mixed her a drink. If anyone might have been lost in the shuffle, it would have been her, but the producers must have